


Mine to hold as I'm holding you now (and yet, never so near)

by lesbianquill



Category: The Cazalets
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, Touch prompts, absolute pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-01-18 12:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianquill/pseuds/lesbianquill
Summary: From the touch prompts list on my tumblr: It's the simple things they take advantage of, in these precious, lonely moments.





	1. Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> this is the part when i ascend from my hiatus in hell to post the first ever cazalets fic in this godforsaken place. you're welcome.

London is their sanctuary.

There is no children, no brothers or sisters-in-law, and absolutely no parents; even Evie is away, thank god, and no matter how selfish it feels, Sid can’t find it in her to care. They sit together, read together, dine together, _sleep together_. It’s everything that Sid has ever wanted, for them to be together like this, like any other couple might.

“Cigarette?”

Sid slips one from the case Rachel offers, accepts the light she shares soon after. There is something about Egyptian cigarettes that is so very _Rachel,_ and Sid always finds herself yearning for the taste long after she’s gone.

She can’t help but wonder if there’s ever a time she she isn’t yearning for Rachel in some way or another. Even when they’re side by side, just like they are now, Sid wants to reach out and touch— wants to envelop herself in Rachel like the soft haze of smoke that trails from her lips as she exhales into the room that seems almost too quiet.

Sid eases herself to her feet. Shuffles off towards the phonograph in the corner and slips on one of her favourite records— a gift from Rachel, of course, the Christmas before last. She finds herself swaying along to the soft melody as she smokes, and when she turns to stub out the remains of her cigarette she finds Rachel staring up her with such glittering eyes that Sid thinks her heart might burst.

She extends her hand. Finds a grin spread across her lips as Rachel takes it, pulls herself upwards, and drifts straight into her arms. Sid instinctively slips an arm around Rachel’s waist, settling as Rachel rests her other hand on her shoulder. From there they find their own rhythm, a gentle sway around the small living room— bodies pressed tight, eyes unwavering. In Rachel’s gaze she finds everything she could have ever asked for and more; a simmering fire staring straight back at her that burns with pure, unconditional love.

“I do adore you, you know,” Sid says quietly, “I’d give anything to stay like this forever.”

She doesn’t want to sound like a brat— worries endlessly that she comes across like one, that she sounds unsatisfied with the precious time they _do_ get together— but then Rachel is squeezing her hand, offering her a doting smile, and Sid realises it doesn’t matter what _she_ thinks, because Rachel doesn’t see any of it. Instead, she beams straight through all of those sluggish, blackened thoughts, shines like a glittering sun through the sludge in her brain, and forgives and forgives and forgives, because that’s just what Rachel _does_ , in all her wonderful, selfless nature.

“Me too,” Rachel admits, huffing a soft sigh as the music croons behind them.

So Sid makes every second count: smooths her hand over Rachel’s back, rubs her thumb in small, absentminded circles in time to the slow beat; pulls her in as close as she can and savours the shared warmth of their bodies.

Of all the men it could have been, of all the dance halls Rachel could have found herself in (and she had, before, with a man— but it was nothing like this, Sid thinks with a smug burst of pride), it feels something of a divine privilege to be able to hold her, here, in her home. It’s the simple kind of intimacy that Sid finds herself craving between lessons, or at the end of a lonely evening, between the visits she seems to plan her entire life around.

It doesn’t matter that neither of them are particularly wonderful dancers, either— they never really had the practice or the reason. Most of Rachel’s experience came from having her brothers— just Rupert, really— swing her around in their youth; Sid’s from moments like this, with other girls, so long ago that it feels like little more than a dream. They don’t need to be good— they don’t need to be much of anything at all, so long as they have each other.

As the music swells, Rachel leans in; kisses her slowly, softly, sweetly, tasting like smoke and peaches and cream— Sid’s new favourite things, because they linger on her lips after Rachel pulls away, as she looks at her like she’s the only thing in the entire world. That’s what it feels like, Sid realises— she _does_ feel like the only thing: the luckiest thing, the most precious thing.

They stay like that as the song fades out— all wrapped in each other, dancing together— well into the silence that follows.


	2. Stroking Hair

Rachel is coaxed, eventually (gently, reassuringly), into the bath with Sid after what feels like _years_ of reasoning with herself. It’s all nerves, fizzing in her limbs like pins and needles by an intimacy that feels too much, somehow. There isn’t anything to be scared of, not really, but it’s nothing like what she’s used to. Even their lovemaking seems less taboo than this— is all low lamplight and layers of blankets, not stark nakedness and nothing to hide behind.

It’s not that Sid hasn’t seen her like this, it’s that she hasn’t seen her _like this_. Exposed. No way to shield her imperfections— and there are more than a few, she knows. She’s barely even looked at herself naked in all these years, always favoured comfort over glamour, never had a reason to look like anything other than herself. Goodness knows what Sid would think of her in the unforgiving light of day. Had it been a mistake, she wonders, in not taking more care over her appearance, for Sid’s sake?

Her cheeks flare red as she recalls how Sid never holds her, never touches her with anything other than pure wonder— how her hands roam over every dip and curve and bless every inch of her. How she praises Rachel’s body deep into the early hours of the morning. How she calls her beautiful whether she is wrapped up in coats or pyjamas or Sid’s bare skin.

Perhaps she _is_ over-thinking, after all.

She pads out into the bathroom and finds Sid already dipping her toe in the water, her clothes folded neatly in the corner. As Rachel clicks the door closed, Sid looks over her shoulder and smiles, beaming with gratitude at getting to indulge in something so simple together.

“It’s hot,” she says, stepping into the tub and wiggling her toes. “Come in— I’ll wash your hair for you.”

As much as she doesn’t want to stare, Rachel can’t help herself— can’t stop her eyes from wandering across Sid’s willowy frame, mapping the places in her mind that she’s touched, kissed, held.

There’s a pause before her brain catches up, when she remembers what she’s supposed to be doing, and she finally moves into the corner to fumble with the buttons on her cardigan. Rachel sheds the rest of her clothes tentatively, can see Sid watching her as she settles into the water, and wills herself not to feel so self-conscious. Sid seems completely fine; always has had that kind of natural ease about her, something that Rachel both envies and loves and wishes she had an ounce of for herself.

She joins her a moment later— tiptoes over to the bath and accepts the hand that Sid extends, climbs in as delicately as she can, and lets out a sigh of relief as she relaxes against her body. Admittedly, there’s not really enough room for the two of them, and Rachel knows her back will give her hell for it later, but now she’s here she can’t bear to move. She leans back into Sid and settles into her embrace, letting out a soft hum of appreciation at the feeling of calloused fingertips drawing circles on her kneecap. Her head buries in the crook of Sid’s neck, and as a stray kiss is pressed to Rachel’s temple she realises just how blissful this is.

Rachel has never considered bathing to be luxurious— but _this_ , this was a luxury, without a shadow of a doubt. The rise and fall of Sid’s chest against her makes her feel whole, like the two of them have become one perfect being. The water is wonderfully warm; laps around them gently as Sid shifts the path of her fingers from Rachel’s knee to her arm, then her shoulder, then her hair, damp hand smoothing down the curls in time with her breathing.

“Is this... is this alright?” Rachel asks, scolding herself internally for not even considering Sid’s comfort until now.

Sid squeezes the hand in her own. “Of course it is,” she replies, “What about you? Comfortable?”

“Perfectly.”

And it is perfect, in its own way. It is warm and soothing and _safe_ , so far removed from the constant business of their lives— just skin against skin, limbs entwined, voices quiet. Sid talks about her students, about music. Rachel lets her— not because she isn’t interested, because she is, but because she’s far too relaxed to contribute— focuses on Sid’s voice low in her ear and the hand still stroking her hair. There’s very little stopping her from falling asleep, she realises; instead forces herself awake by asking for the soap.

Sid lathers the bar in her hands, prompts Rachel to lean forward a little, and works the suds into her hair, massaging her scalp as she goes. Rachel groans softly. Tries to concentrate on washing herself only to find that she can’t, just lets her body sag blissfully as Sid uses those expert fingers of hers where Rachel needs them the most. She even rinses her hair for her, makes sure she’s nice and clean before packing her off to fetch the towels.

Rachel’s back pops as she rises from the water, already throbbing in protest, but she goes anyway— knows that she would do anything if Sid asked her to. She snags one towel for herself, wrapping it around her body tightly, before holding the other out for Sid, who is all scrubbed and pink and glowing and utterly, truly loveable. There’s an overwhelming softness to her, now, as she stands dripping wet, dwarfed by the towel she cocoons herself in.

She needs to kiss her. So she does, cups a rosy cheek in her palm and melts against the love of her life, simply because she can.


	3. First Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leoni asked me for Sid and Rachel's first kiss, so I thought I would add it here with the rest of my Sid/Rach content! (originally posted on my tumblr)

It’s an accident. That’s what Rachel believes, because it must be– there’s no reason for Sid to kiss her. 

It’s not, as far as she’s aware, something that she herself has ever considered. Not, for example, every time she leaves Sid at the train station, or before sleep claims her every night. Not in her dreams, either– her imagination has never stretched so far to conjure the shape, the texture, the feeling of Sid’s lips. Even when they’ve taken their walks alone through the fields, as they’ve sat shoulder to shoulder with their secret, kitchen-raided picnics, Rachel couldn’t have possibly thought about what it might be like to bridge that gap, to close the inches between them, to press her mouth to Sid’s and find out what icing tastes like on someone else’s lips.

_Oh dear_.

Upon second thought, the idea may have been plaguing her for some time now. She never has had the courage, though, to take that extra step between thought and feeling, to make it  _real_. But Sid is her dearest friend; her  _only_  friend, really, and to jeopardise that for the sake of her own selfishness, her own curiosity– well, it doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?

So when they find themselves alone as Sid packs her things away, Rachel doesn’t question her closeness, doesn’t question the look in Sid’s eye as she takes the sheet music from Rachel’s waiting hands.

“Thank you for turning the pages for me,” Sid says gently, offers a smile with more warmth than she deserves for such a simple task. “You must get awfully bored of it.”

“Don’t be silly,” Rachel replies, “I could never get bored of you.”

It’s true, of course– truer, even, than anything she’s ever said to anyone, because Sid is a breath of fresh air. More than that; she’s an ever stretching sun, warm and bright and glowing, breathing life into her little world. Rachel seems to gravitate towards her, too, like an eager flower aching to grow.

“Thank you,” Sid repeats, little more than a breath, and then it happens.

Rachel thinks she might have imagined it, but it’s impossible. Sid really does lean forward, presses a kiss to her lips, soft but sure and ever so real. It’s as though she’s been struck by lightning: her brain disconnects, frazzled, lips humming with electricity that shoots straight down her spine. She feels lightheaded, manages to stumble backwards towards the door as she mumbles an apology.

“Right, well, I should go– I’ve got to help the Brig with a letter, and I couldn’t possibly leave him waiting.”

“Oh,” Sid says, wilting, suddenly looking a little less radiant than she had a moment ago. “Right. Of course. No matter, I suppose I’ll see you next time.”

“Next time,” Rachel echoes, before scuttling into the hallway and practically slamming the door behind her. She leans against the wood, releases a shaking breath, and counts the erratic beating of her heart as it hammers away in her chest. 

Perhaps, she considers, she may have imagined kissing Sid for as long as she can remember. Perhaps it wasn’t an accident, after all, that Sid really had wanted to all along. Perhaps, as much as it thrills and terrifies her in equal measures, Rachel might just be in love with her best friend.


End file.
